


Victor Trevor

by Stacy_Holmes



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blink And You Miss It Slash, Christmas Fluff, College, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Meetings, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Modern Era, Pre-Slash, Sick John Watson, Sickfic, Story: The Adventure of the Gloria Scott, Tickling, no beta we die like mary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:40:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26456548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stacy_Holmes/pseuds/Stacy_Holmes
Summary: One winter night, John Watson found himself sick and bored out of his mind. Enter one clueless Sherlock Holmes about to get a ride down memory lane but not before some fun ensues.Or: A fun, modern retelling of The Gloria Scott
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & Victor Trevor, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor
Kudos: 6





	Victor Trevor

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanna point out that Sherlock is 16 years old and taking sophomore classes in his first year. So he's kind of lanky. And Victor is a freshman, and 19 years old (he did a sabbatical to travel). (They're in college).  
> If you have read my other story, WhoLock: A different friend, then you now know why the Russians tortured Sherlock, this story happened before the WhoLockian one.  
> -The Keeper of Secrets

Christmas day was close!

And everyone was supposed to be celebrating with their families and friends. Well, everyone except Dr. John Watson.

John had been sick almost the whole winter (actually it had been like a week and a half, but what's the difference?) because of the cold weather (and it was also because of Sherlock. If John hadn't had gone with him, chasing down criminals in the snow after a whole day of attending patients with colds and the flu, this wouldn't have happened. Okay, so now it sounds like it was John's fault all along... let's continue.)

Mrs. Hudson was paying her sister a visit in France because she was spending her holidays there, and Sherlock was outside in a case. John, unable to go with him because of his condition, had to spend his vacations in the flat, resting. And don't get John wrong, he wasn't a baby. He had insisted to go with Sherlock in this case too. But after a 'little' argument with Sherlock about the pros and cons of him going, and after a twenty minute-long list of Sherlock's cons, John decided to cut him off, stating that they were both adults and that if Sherlock didn't want him to go with him, he understood. John might have said this shouting and pouting, but that's beside the point. The problem now was that John was bored, he had done everything he could think of while being confined to the flat, and he was stubborn enough not to call Sherlock and ask him to come back and 'hang out' or something. So he waited and waited, and waited...

When Sherlock eventually arrived home, he put aside his coat and scarf, and took off his shoes and jacket, he didn't bother to change into more comfortable clothes and only put on a robe he had in the living room. Then he lay on the couch and went to his mind palace.

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

In the flat

"Sherlock?"

"Sherloooock."

Still no response.

"Sherlock!"

"What!?" Sherlock finally answered.

It was nine o'clock at night when John decided that he was bored enough to disturb Sherlock from his 'mind palace'.

"What do I do? I have been in the flat for three days, sick and bored. I need a distraction" grumbled John frustrated.

"Well, congratulations. Now go look for your distraction somewhere else." Said Sherlock sarcastically.

"You are no fun." Stated a grumpy John.

It was true, John had been locked up in the flat for three whole days, he was bored.

"Get off," said John standing beside Sherlock.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me well, make room, or at least lift your feet."

Sherlock didn't do anything but frown at John. So John shoved Sherlock's feet, earning a complaint from Sherlock. He sat down on the couch with Sherlock's feet on his lap now, and he began watching a TV show about a young warlock and a blonde prince whose ego (In John's opinion) could almost match Sherlock's.

After a few minutes of watching it, and discovering it was the same episode he watched the day before, he decided to stare at Sherlock's bare feet instead, he put his hand on his ankle and subconsciously started circling his thumb around it, but he did not expect to hear the strange noises Sherlock made, nor the little twitches. An idea clicked.

"Sherlock?"

"Mhmm?" John turned to look at him and saw that the detective was actually watching the episode. After countless (and failed) tries to find something Sherlock would enjoy, John had been pleasantly surprised to notice that Sherlock was at least entertained with this particular TV Show. Sherlock had never admitted it, but John could tell. John used this distraction as an advantage.

"Are you ticklish?" Bomb dropped.

Seconds that seemed long enough to be minutes ticked by. John saw many different emotions pass through Sherlock's face. Most of them he could assume to be surprise and reluctance. Tension, interesting.

"No, John, I am not ticklish." Said Sherlock bitterly, and sighed tiredly as if explaining something to a child. His face was now blank. He clearly was trying to hide something. John was having none of that.

It took him two seconds to make up his mind.

"I think you are lying." Said John before quickly grabbing Sherlock's feet with his left arm around them, and started running his fingers along Sherlock's soles; however, Sherlock did not laugh immediately. All his concentration was focused on his efforts to get away from John's evil fingers and not give him any satisfaction.

After a full minute maybe less, Sherlock was getting all red and was panting. He didn't last any further.

"Okay, Johohohn! Stop!" He said, wiggling (and giggling even though he'll forever deny it), trying to escape John's ministrations, he didn't want to hurt John by kicking him, but even though John was sick, he still got the strength to hold Sherlock's feet with one arm and tickle them with the other hand. "Noohoho, John! For Christ's sake! STOP!"

He continued to giggle silently for a few more seconds until John unconsciously weakened his grasp, trying to focus more on Sherlock's toes, and Sherlock broke free. Sherlock with a disheveled appearance (messy hair, wrinkles in his shirt, and out of breath) ran behind John's chair to shield himself from his partner's fingers, eyes never leaving John's movement.

"What was that for!?" Sherlock shouted undignified.

"You told me to look for a distraction, who knew the great Sherlock Holmes was ticklish?" John said with a wide, yet incredulous smile on his face.

"I told you to look for it somewhere else!" Said Sherlock, undignified, and still not leaving the protection of John's chair in case John decided to go for another round.

"And I told you you were no fun. Now, Mr. Lies, either you find me a distraction or my fingers can find one easily." Said John, calmly but with a serious face.

"Seriously, John. With those statements, you should give Moriarty a lesson to be scarier." Said Sherlock confidently, until John gave a step towards Sherlock. "Okay, fine. Fine! But your hands stand by your sides."

"That's fine with me." Said John, moving to his chair, and Sherlock practically ran towards his, trying to keep his distance as far as possible from John.

"What do you want to know?" He asked, sitting down.

"Excuse me?" Asked John, taken aback with the question.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Yes, what do you want to know? You constantly ask me questions to which normally I don't have time, nor the will to give you the answers to, now I'm giving you the opportunity to ask, so come on. Ask."

"When did you decide to become- No! Wait, let me rephrase. Why did you decide to be a consulting detective?" Asked John after a few moments of seriously thinking about it.

"Well, there were many reasons for me to become a consulting detective, it was the most logical and obv-"

"No, but tell me why, give me a good answer." Said John when he could practically hear Sherlock with all these facts and reasons. "Tell me a story. "

"Okay, the reason I became a detective was because of a friend of mine- no, don't laugh, John. I did have a life with people around me before you, you know?" Said Sherlock, glaring at John when he saw the soldier's face twitching, wanting to laugh. He hardly ever hears Sherlock calling anyone a friend.

"Please go on, this is going to be interesting." He said, trying to hide his grin.

"Oh no! You don't get to put it on your website," complained Sherlock.

"I didn't even tell you I was going to publish it in my blog. Besides why not?" answered John.

"Because it's my story, my life. Why would anyone be interested in that, and it's not like I want them to know that part." Said Sherlock with pouting lips and a frown on his face.

"Fine. But only if you tell where you are more ticklish." He said after a few moments with a smirk on his face, thinking about how he just witnessed his friend with a big, real smile plastered on his face, and how he should always look like that.

"Jawn! I told you I am no-" He stopped at the warning look John gave him, the don't-you-dare-to-lie-to-me look. "Okay, fine. But at the end of the story." Said Sherlock, hoping that when he's finished his story John will forget about it.

"Excellent, now tell me who is this man, who convinced the great Sherlock Holmes to become a consulting detective?" Asked a very curious John with a real interest in his voice.

Sherlock smirked, remembering his old friend, and all the things they did, and all those that didn't get too...

◾◽◾◽◾◽◾◽◾

*FLASHBACK*

Sherlock was walking past the gardens of the university, he was already late to the lecture hall. 'Well, 1 minute and 34 seconds late' And he was in a surprisingly good mood.

He wasn't really trying to get in time, he was deep in his mind trying to remember all the 243 ashes types in French. He was really concentrated that he didn't hear the barks nearing him, he didn't hear them at all, but he did feel the sharp pain in his ankle when he fell down and saw the white bull terrier with its mouth attached around Sherlock's ankle, he saw a little bit of blood pooling down his ankle and onto the floor.

It was really nothing, Sherlock could handle it. It was an inconvenience, and would probably be sure for the next couple of days to actually walk around, but he had received other bites from Redbeard when Red was younger and when they were playing around. He could really handle it alone.

Apparently, the guy with the dirty blonde curls, who just stopped running once he reached them could not. 

"Oh dear Lord! I'm so very sorry. There's so much blood! Here, let me help you." He said, going around Sherlock before pulling him by his arms to get him to stand up. Once Sherlock-with the help of the blue-eyed man, stood up-he was about to tell him it was nothing when he was suddenly not on the floor, but in the man's arms. 'Okay, 'this' I can't handle'. He thought

"Put me down." Sherlock started to squirm in the tall man's arms.

"But you are-"

"I am perfectly capable of standing on my own, now, if you don't put me down I'm going to bite you harder than your dog did." Warned Sherlock. And with that, the other man didn't need any further reasons to let go of the brunette.

"Can you walk?" The dog's owner asked after a few seconds of awkward silence.

"Of course I can-" Sherlock was saying, putting his bad foot down to show the other man, but Sherlock fell again when his ankle didn't actually support him. Only proving himself wrong.

The other man quickly went to his side and pulled him up again, not making the mistake of carrying Sherlock this time.

"I'm truly sorry, my Lorin didn't mean to bite you. Are you hurt?" He asked, referring to Sherlock's second fall, with true concern on his entire face.

"Only my pride," muttered Sherlock quietly. And before the other man could ask about what he said, Sherlock spoke louder. "Besides my ankle, no." He answered, surprising himself, he hasn't insulted the other student yet.

"I should help you to the infirmary." He said firmly to himself and nodding as if he was setting goals or a plan before wrapping an arm around Sherlock's waist and trying to get Sherlock's arm around his neck. "Come on, mate! I promise I won't bite. My dog did that part for me already." He said, grinning cheekily.

Sherlock actually did laugh at the last comment, but not before rolling his eyes. He put his arm around the man's neck and began to hop towards the infirmary with 'Lorin' trailing behind them. He didn't mind if he missed a class that day, he didn't mind at all.

⤵⤴⤵⤴⤵⤴⤵

John was laughing wholly now. In fact, Sherlock could have sworn he saw a tear sliding down John's right cheek.

"What are you laughing about? I was bitten by a dog, I don't see the humor in it." Sherlock said.

Between the loud laughter and deep breaths, the doctor took a while to calm himself enough to talk. He then said, "You told him you would bite him if he wouldn't stop carrying you?"

"He was grabbing me and I didn't even know his name! Besides, it was the first threat my brain formed." Sherlock defended himself.

"I've carried you twice, and you didn't complain," John said.

"The first one I was tied up and gagged, you said you had no time to undo them, which is why you grabbed me and ran until we exited the ship. Do you remember?" He said, remembering the experience.

"Ugh, yes. It was their not-so-subtle way to tell you that the Boss of the Russian mob won't take 'no' for an answer to his proposal about you and his granddaughter getting married." Said John fluttering his eyelashes at the end of his statement.

"Shut up, John. And the second time you carried me, I was unconscious. So no, I didn't complain because I couldn't!" Sherlock said, accusingly.

John was still laughing at Sherlock, and Sherlock was getting annoyed. "Are you going to let me continue or should I just leave until you stop laughing like a maniac?"

"Sorry, sorry. Go on. What happened after?" John stifled a chuckle.

⚫⚪⚫⚪⚫⚪

*FLASHBACK*

"I told you, Victor, stop apologizing." Said Sherlock, sitting down on the infirmary's bed, while the doctor was bandaging his ankle.

"Okay, young man, you are good, but you have to lay off that foot for at least 10 days." He said, smiling sympathetically at Sherlock.

"Mate, I'm truly-" Began Victor.

"If you dare to say 'sorry' one more time I'll -"

"Yes, you'll bite me, or worse you will repeat the process of photosynthesis in German, again." Said Victor, slightly chuckling.

The doctor looked puzzled between the two young men before saying. "Well, I think your friend here, can help you around and take you to your dorm." before Victor or Sherlock could correct him about they not really being friends, a short girl came in, taking the doctor away.

They stood there, not really knowing what to say. It was a bit awkward, but then Sherlock spoke.

"Your pet's name, you said his name is Lorin."

"Yes, that's his name. It comes from -"

"From French. Yes, I know. It means -"

"Are you going to interrupt every sentence I say?" Victor asked out of the blue.

"Well, you've certainly interrupted several of mine." Sherlock retorted back.

Victor just smirked and continued, "It means peace, which doesn't really work right now because Lorin did bite you, but he's nice. I think he might actually like you when you play with him."

"Play with him!? Why would I play with him?" Said Sherlock while Victor looped his arm around his waist to let Sherlock lean on him.

"Because we are going to spend a lot of time together now that you can't really walk, so it would be better AND easier if my dog likes you. Now let's go," answered Victor, leading Sherlock outside the infirmary.

⚪🔹⚪🔹⚪🔹⚪🔹

"And you became friends since then?" Asked John.

"Not really since that moment, but he visited me every day, at first, just a few minutes, then they lasted more than a couple of hours, and by the end of the semester we became very close friends," Sherlock explained. "He had felt guilty the first few days so he would accompany me whenever he could."

They both stood quiet after that. Sherlock had expected John to say something, but he found that John didn't want to say anything, nothing at all, his lips were tightly pressed together actually. Sherlock furrowed his brows in confusion. 'Didn't John want to hear that in the first place? He seems annoyed now, and a bit hurt.' Sherlock thought. Then it clicked all into place. Everything clear all of sudden, 'Obvious' Sherlock might say.

"You are jealous," Sherlock said more like a statement than a question.

John looked up at that. First, his eyes were wide, then his cheeks tainted a bit, and he spluttered, "I-I'm not!"

Sherlock laughed at the embarrassment of his flatmate, this action only helped to make John's embarrassment bigger. "I am NOT! Sherlock, stop laughing!" He warned with narrowed eyes.

Sherlock didn't stop, though. He didn't stop until John was right before him with his hands about to grab Sherlock's hips. He only had time to shout for help with a panicked look upon his face before he was laughing again.

"NO! Johohon! Stahap!" He tried to wiggle out of his predicament with no success, he was trapped between his own armchair and John. He was also laughing freely now, not just giggling. Sherlock not longer cared if he had to push John harder even if sick, he had to get far away from those devious fingers now.

"Johohon! I'm Sohorry heehe, nohoho! STAHAHAP. Plehease!" Sherlock was a mess (to say the least), a mess of flailing limbs and red skin for the lack of oxygen. John did stop at that, he never thought this would lead to Sherlock pleading. Sherlock knew very well not to waste any opportunity, which is why he took that chance to run to his room (like any proper and normal adult would do after being tickled by his best friend). John's reflexes kicked in and at the last moment, he managed to grab Sherlock by the robe he was wearing, making him spin and fall on his butt, facing John. John had never seen Sherlock more scared and surprised in his life.

"J-John..." his mouth was opening and closing. In the end, he said nothing, he began to rapidly crawl backward and away from John, but still facing him. John made a mistake. He walked fast and got near Sherlock, he drew his hands to stop Sherlock and to tell him he wasn't planning on tickling him anymore. His face was very close to Sherlock's feet, that was his mistake. He got kicked in the face.

▶◀▶◀▶◀▶◀▶◀▶◀

"I told you I was sorry!" pouted Sherlock from outside the bathroom door.

Apparently Sherlock could have been a great soccer player according to John. His nose, which Sherlock kicked when he thought John was going to 'attack' him again, wasn't broken, but as far as Sherlock knew it has been bleeding for the past 12 minutes, Sherlock didn't know this, but according to every medical training it was dangerous if any bleeding lasted longer than 10 minutes. Sherlock hadn't told him yet, but he was starting to feel a bit guilty.

"John! Come on, I didn't even kick you that hard." Defended uselessly Sherlock.

He was about to say something again when he heard noises from the inside of the restroom. John opened the door only to reveal a horribly huge and a bit red nose with a not-so amused face. Sherlock grimaced a little because of the nose but smiled when he saw the doctor's face.

"It is not that bad..." Started Sherlock, and desperately trying not to laugh at the view.

"Dun't lie, Sherlog." Said a very pissed John, who in Sherlock's opinion sounded as if his stuffy nose got a lot more congested. This time he did laugh.

'Seriously?' thought John.

That's how he ended like this. Because Sherlock laughed, John tickled him. Because John tickled him, his face got kicked.

In the end, he just rolled his eyes, and sat on his chair of the living room. At this change of environment, Sherlock did feel guilty and surprisingly decided to do something about it.

"Look, John.." he began, kneeling near John so he could be somewhat comfortable but close. 'Stupid human emotions, so difficult!' thought Sherlock. "I'm sorry that I laughed and that I kicked you, okay? There. By the way, is it normal for a nose to bleed 11 minutes and 54 seconds?"

John was quiet for a while, just staring at Sherlock and at the fact that he had actually apologized. He blinked to understand what Sherlock had said, and breathed deeply to check if his nasal cavities were still congested before replying, "No, it is not normal, actually it is dangerous if it lasts longer than 9 minutes."

At this point, Sherlock had stood there between John's armchair and his own with fear in his eyes, but not saying anything nor doing anything, like a statue.

John looked at him with confusion but didn't say anything. After a couple of minutes, Sherlock snapped out of his weird trance zone.

"But you were there for longer than that." He insisted. That's when John understood.

"Oh, but it only bled for a few minutes, maybe 4, 6 tops. But I had to check if it wasn't broken, and I cleaned it, your feet are dirty. Besides, you were accusing me of something, which is not true!" He ended much harsher than when he began.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, not seeming bothered by what John said.

"Victor was a close friend, John. He was kind and loved to laugh about everything and anything, he didn't care if he made mistakes or was publicly corrected, he was always filled with this energy, and a spirit and enthusiasm which were very rare. He liked to run, to paint landscapes with watercolors, and sketch people in his notebook. To write poetry in French, and help everyone who came his way." Said Sherlock, remembering more and more as he described Victor. "He was everything that I wasn't. You could say that we were total opposites, and we were. But he... he was as friendless as I was."

"It was nice to be with someone who didn't care what other people had to say. He didn't care to be the only one to hang around the 'prodigious freak boy'. He was honest." Sherlock had continued much more quietly.

John didn't say anything for a while. He wouldn't admit out loud that he did feel hurt when Sherlock was telling him about Victor. Sherlock was after all his best friend, and to know that before him there was someone else who occupied that place. Well, he could only feel a bit hurt and jealous when he heard Sherlock describing a close friend and not being that close friend. He knew he had no right, and that he should be happy to know that Sherlock wasn't alone, at least not in college, which with Sherlock's brain probably ended when he was just 17, barely an adult.

"I'm sorry for behaving the way I did." He apologized.

After a few seconds Sherlock sat down on his own chair and spoke up, "Shall I continue?" He asked as if they hadn't just had an argument.

"Please," said John, nodding.

🚶 🔫🔫🔫🔫🔫

*FLASHBACK*

"Hey, Will." Said Victor, entering Sherlock's dorm.

Today was Tuesday, and like every other Tuesday after all their classes had finished, which constantly occurred around 4:26 p.m. according to Sherlock. They would meet at Sherlock's dorm to go and explore the city together. It had been a year and a month since the accident with Lorin, and now summer vacations were approaching in a week. And ever since Sherlock was allowed to walk on his own they got to know each other quite well, not only the city. Victor always liked to accompany Sherlock to his first class before getting to his own. He also appeared to like calling him 'Will' since he had learned that was his first name, Sherlock didn't mind. As a matter of fact, he thought of it refreshing after being constantly scolded by his dear brother, who always began threatening him with a 'Sherlock' in that posh accent Mycroft has.

"Victor, you are late." Responded Sherlock from somewhere on the floor. 'Only God knows what he's always doing down there.' thought Victor with a smile on his face.

"A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he needs to." Said Victor, laughing at the groan he received from his friend at the mention of the quote.

"Stop quoting your Tolkien books." Complained Sherlock, standing up and walking towards the door. He was about to open the door, but Victor stood between him and the door, blocking it. Victor wasn't a burly man, but his waist and chest were broader than Sherlock's, he was tall, 4 inches taller than Sherlock, he was also stronger and faster than him, given Victor's love for sports. Let's also say that Victor was 20 while Sherlock was 17 years old. Sherlock looked up at him, frowning and questioning his friend's actions.

"I was wondering if we could stay here today." Asked Victor, looking for an answer in his friend's eyes.

Sherlock took a step back and observed his friend from head to toe and back, eyebrows still furrowed.

"You didn't go to your classes today." He said as a matter of fact, and not as a question. "Why didn't you?" He muttered quietly more to himself. He didn't see Victor the whole day, just in the morning when his friend dropped him off at his first class like always, but he didn't think anything of it. However, now that he had seen him, he had deduced that not only has Victor skipped classes, but that has gone to the city and ate a donut in that bakery they like across the bookstore, that's because of the left cuff of his jacket and the crumbs attached to it. Victor is right-handed, but he likes to pretend he's left-handed when he's in public places. 'Now where did he went to the city and why?' he thought.

"Will-"

"Why did you go to the post office?" Asked Sherlock in the end.

Victor sighed, 'Of course William would know where he had been! Can't the kid be surprised for at least once in his life?' he thought.

"If you sit and let me make this coffee," said Victor referring to the Colombian coffee he just got out of his old satchel, which he was always carrying. "Then I'll tell you why I was outside all day." He proposed with his mouth and eyes now squeezed together as if waiting for a bomb to go off.

Sherlock considered his options, he knew that part of the reason Victor went to the post office was to pick his precious Colombian coffee, which Victor's father sent every couple of weeks. Mr. Trevor, from what Sherlock had heard, was a man who had traveled to many places, one of them being Colombia. In a small village in Colombia, the inhabitants had learned to cultivate a special kind of coffee, which Victor grew to love. He also enjoyed sharing it with Sherlock, he remembered the first time he offered his friend coffee and the confused face of Sherlock when he tasted it, discovering that it wasn't the coffee the institute supplied, but a very delicious one.

"Fine." He said, sitting down on his bed, and as soon as he did so, Victor broke into a very big smile that reached his eyes. He then went to the lilliputian kitchen Sherlock had in his dorm. At the beginning of the year, Sherlock didn't want to live in the same building he had classes in, sadly for him, Mycroft told mommy. And now he had to live there until he finished at least his first career, which fortunately for him was going to happen in a year and 12 days. He had planned to finish his 2 career studies in 4 years and, in Victor's words, he was 'nailing' it. At least he didn't have to share the room.

Victor sat beside him on his bed, handing him a cup. They both took a sip, enjoying the bitter yet delicious liquid traveling down their throats.

"Now, tell me," Sherlock demanded after drinking half of his coffee. Victor rolled his eyes at his impatient friend, but took a last sip and began to explain.

"You know it's going to be summer vacations next week, right? No, wait. Stupid question. Of course, you know." Victor didn't even let him answer, but as Sherlock blinked slowly, trying to analyze each word just pronounced, Victor frowned. "You didn't know!?"

Sherlock then looked at him in the eye as if searching for an answer there, before looking down and saying quietly, "I mean, I knew they existed, but I didn't know when they would start."

Victor watched Sherlock as if he has two heads before laughing out loud. That got Sherlock's attention, making him look at his friend. He soon got annoyed, he didn't like it when people laughed at him, even if it was Victor. So he did the only thing he could think of at the moment. He slapped him on the shoulder. What he didn't count on was that Victor did martial arts when he was 14. So, one moment he was peacefully sitting down, finishing his cup of coffee, on the next he was pinned against his own bed with Victor above him. His eyes were wide, he couldn't think. 'what on earth just happened!?'

Victor looked surprised too as if he didn't know how he was sitting above his friend, but rapidly his surprise changed into a smile too big to fit on that face. Muscle memory is awesome (Victor's words).

"I bet you didn't deduce that one, did you, William?" He said, proud of himself.

Sherlock really wanted to wipe that smile off his face, so he did what any sane person could do in that situation. He let all the coffee he was holding in his cheeks out with a little force, making it splash across Victor's face, Sherlock had never seen anyone run as fast as Victor did from the bed to the sink. Okay, maybe not what an adult would have done, but a 5-year-old boy.

'Who's laughing now, Trevor?' thought Sherlock.

"You are sooo paying for that one, William!" Victor sing-sang from the bathroom.

Sherlock couldn't stop laughing at the face Victor had made. By now he was sitting on his bed again, he could see a few coffee stains on it, he had no idea of how to remove those. And if he ever did, he had probably deleted it from his mind palace, a place he had been constructing since he was 6 years old.

Victor came out of the bathroom running and yelling like a warrior in a battle, but at the last moment, he just stood before Sherlock with his arms beside his sides. Sherlock raised a single eyebrow.

"Sorry, but I actually I didn't have time to plot my revenge, so..." said Victor scratching the back of his head.

Sherlock smirked at that but decided it was time to get the principal subject done.

"Whatever, you can do that later. Tell me what does summer has to do with you skipping classes." Said Sherlock.

"Oh, right. Well, I was wondering if you would like to spend a month with me in my house at Donnithorpe, in Norfolk?" Victor said slowly as if he had memorized those exact words just hours ago.

Sherlock blinked, he wasn't expecting that. He licked his lips, a nervous habit he had sworn to get rid of. "I still don't understand what the post office has to do with it." He said, trying to buy some time before answering Victor's invitation.

Victor chuckled softly, Avoidance, Sherlock didn't know this but he was already regretting inviting him, now he felt like a fool. 'Of course William didn't like to be around people, but I am his friend, right?' thought Victor.

"I had to ask my father first, and he's a bit old-fashioned, he doesn't have a cellphone, nor a computer, or telephone. He says he doesn't trust them, but I think it's because he doesn't know how to use them. Which is why he keeps sending me letters. I could receive them here, but I like to go there, it's an excuse to got to the city." Answered Victor.

"And to go to the bakery to eat your precious American donuts." Added Sherlock.

Victor laughed, he loved when Sherlock made deductions, that was another of the reasons they like to go to the city is because according to Sherlock there were more kinds of people there and not the same 'boring' ones, it also gave Victor more people to sketch.

"So, what do you say?" Asked Victor eventually, ordering his voice to not let the disappointment seep through when Sherlock would ultimately decline his offer.

A few moments of silence passed between them. Victor wasn't one for stressing usually, but his hands were sweating. He discretely pushed them into his pockets.

"I guess a month is not so bad, is it?" It wasn't a common answer nor a very nice one, but Victor couldn't be happier.

➡➡➡➡➡➡

*FLASHBACK*

"So, Sherlock, can I call you Sherlock? It is a very unusual name, but unique nonetheless." Said Mr. Trevor. It was Wednesday of the second week Sherlock had stayed with the Trevors, but it was the first he was meeting Victor senior, Mr. Trevor had been in Davao, Philippines, when they arrived, now they had introduced themselves and were having breakfast.

"Yes, Mr. Trevor." Answered Sherlock.

"You're not going to stop calling me Mr. Trevor, are you?" Said Mr. Trevor smiling, the same smile Victor wore every day.

"Nope. My friend is Victor and you are Mr. Trevor, it will be easier that way." Said Sherlock.

"Okay, now let me get this straight. You are also William, right? The William my boy can't stop talking about?" Asked Mr. Trevor. At that Victor turned bright red and gave a nervous smile, adverting his eyes.

"I suppose, yeah." Said Sherlock a bit red himself. He never expected Victor to speak of him with his father.

"I must confess I'm very curious, my son has told me you are able to tell everything about any person like a magician or something-"

"I never said magician!" Victor clarified quickly.

"Well, something like that. Anyway, I don't believe him, but now that you are here you can prove if my son is right or a liar." Said Mr. Trevor, turning to look at Sherlock.

"I'm afraid there's not much I can tell." He started.

"Come on, Sherlock." Mr. Trevor laughed, "I'm an excellent candidate, that is if you can really do what my son says."

'Oh, the game is on' thought Sherlock.

"In the last 8 months, you have been afraid that a personal attack would come your way." Deduced Sherlock.

Mr. Trevor blinked in surprise. He surely didn't expect that statement. "That's true. You know, Victor, when we told the police about that poaching gang, they threaten to stab us and slit our throats. Sir Edward Holly was attacked four months later. I've always been keeping an eye open since then, but how did you know?" He asked Sherlock.

"Your cane, it's obvious you don't need it to walk, but I can tell that you acquire it within the last 10 months. You bore the head out and poured melted lead into the hole so it can be used as a weapon if needed. I don't think you would take such difficulties unless you feel in some kind of danger." Explained Sherlock.

"You didn't tell me you didn't need it to walk." Stated Victor. "Dad, if yo-"

"Later, son. I'm sure Sherlock here has more to say. Do you have anything else?" Mr. Trevor asked, smiling, always smiling.

"When you were Victor's age you used to box a lot."

"You are right. How? Is my nose knocked a little to the side?" Asked, wearing a big smile and touching his nose with his fingers, try to discover for himself if he was right.

"No, it's your ears. The flattening and thickening of yours are the same of a boxing man." Sherlock clarified and smiled softly when Mr. Trevor touched his own ears and immediately pulled Victor by his ear to touch his, earning a complaint from his son.

"Okay, nice observation. What else?" Asked Mr. Trevor.

"You gained a lot of your fortune digging for oil."

"Made all my money in the petroleum business."

"You have been in New Zealand and visited Japan once."

"Right again."

"You once met a person, whose initials are J. A., and became personally involved with them for a while until you parted ways and tried desperately to forget about that particular person." Said Sherlock in his usual voice of boredom.

At that last deduction, Mr. Trevor stood up, looking directly at Sherlock as if he had turned green or something. His stare didn't last long, though. For he fainted and fell forwards almost hitting his head with the edge of the table near him.

Sherlock and Victor stood up as well, they were both shocked. One moment they've been eating and the next, they were helping Victor's father regain consciousness.

A series of 'Mr. Trevor.' and 'Dad?' could be heard in the seconds that followed this scene.

Both Sherlock and Victor weren't sure of what to do, but fortunately for them, Mr. Trevor opened his eyes a little after. They helped him sit up slowly. He said, "Thanks, boys. I'm sorry if I scared you. I may look strong, but it really doesn't take much to take me down these days."

Victor with Sherlock's help made him sit down on his chair and Sherlock gave him a glass of water. After he drank some of it he spoke again. "I have no idea of how you did all of that, but I must tell you that none of the other detectives with their fancy offices and informative books can ever compare to you and what you do. You can trust me, in my many years traveling I have seen plenty of things and what I see here is the future. I'm sure one day you'll become a famous detective, and maybe not me, but Victor will watch you in the news as you solve cases, crimes, and all of those things that great detectives do." Mr. Trevor had been very nice saying these words, but this time he did not smile, as a matter of fact, he didn't smile again while Sherlock stayed there.

✉✉✉✉✉✉✉✉

*FLASHBACK*

Sherlock obviously did notice the change of mood in Mr. Trevor, but said nothing about it until Victor did.

"Hey dude."

"Since when did you start saying 'dude'? A few months ago you used to say 'mate'." Observed Sherlock as Victor sat beside him on the floor of what was being used as Sherlock's bedroom in the Trevors' summer house.

"Since I started liking American movies. Especially those about the girl meets the guy, and suddenly all they see is a bunch of tiny hearts whenever they think about each other." Answered Victor gleefully.

"Those hideous movies!" Started Sherlock, "I don't get how someone like you can even like something like that?!"

Victor smiled, he loved to tease Sherlock, especially when Sherlock ended either confused or stepping over his own words. It was priceless, but if you'd ask Victor, he would say that his favorite was when Sherlock ended at loss of words.

"Someone like me?" Asked Victor with a small, tentative smile playing at his lips. 'This is going to be good.' He thought.

"Well, yes." Said Sherlock more softly and a bit insecure.

"Oh, and how is someone like me?" He asked.

"Well, y-you know, helpful and... good?" He stammered.

"Helpful and good? Really, Will?" He joked.

"Well yeah, and smart and-Victor! You did it on purpose!" Sherlock accused.

Victor laughed as he said, "Aw, you look cute when you are confused and babbling."

Sherlock opened and closed his mouth, no words coming out of him. At the end, with his cheeks a little pink, he said "S-shut up!"

"Fine, whatever. Hey, I wanted to ask you something. Have you noticed that my dad is acting a bit weird? Asked Victor.

"Do you really want me to answer you after you insulted me?" Said Sherlock, crossing his arms.

"I didn't insult you! You are a drama queen, Will."

"I'm not!" Pouted Sherlock.

"Yes you are. A pouting, drama queen. Do you know what my father did when I was a child and pouted?" Asked Victor raising an eyebrow.

"What?"

Victor smiled at the change of mood in Sherlock and said, "I'm not telling you. There, a secret of mine William doesn't know about."

They stood silent for a while. Victor smiling brightly and proudly, while Sherlock was looking down, it didn't last long for Sherlock looked up at Victor in the eye and said. "He spanked you."

Victor's jaw dropped, eyes wide opened 'What the-' "How on Earth did you know!?"

Sherlock smirked, "I'm not telling you. There, a secret of mine Victor doesn't know about." He mocked.

"Don't use my words against me. Sherlock Holmes." Said Victor, placing a hand on his chest as if he was hurt.

"You are right, I shouldn't use the words of a person with such horrible tastes." Challenged Sherlock. He knew what was coming next,}; after all, he had always liked a good chase.

"Oh William, you so shouldn't have said that. I'm your doom!" Said Victor, laughing at his threat and running to catch Sherlock.

The moment was lost. Victor didn't ask Sherlock about his father again. At least not until the very end.

◀◀ ▶▶

*FLASHBACK*

"Do you really have to go?" Asked Victor one night, standing in what was temporarily Sherlock's room.

It was the day before Sherlock would leave the Trevor's house. Each day had been more difficult than the day before with Mr. Trevor's attitude towards Sherlock. In the end, Sherlock decided to go to London, he didn't want to visit his brother, but even he knew when he wasn't welcome. Actually he knew it too well.

"Yes, Victor. Now go to your room so we both can get some sleep." Sherlock sighed. He didn't care for sleeping, but he had to send him away. Since Sherlock had told him about going to London Victor hadn't left him alone, constantly asking him for a reason or begging him to stay for at least a bit longer. Sherlock naturally had said 'no' to each one of his offers. Victor had even tried to bribe him by saying that if he stayed he would buy him a new microscope.

"Is it because of my father?" Asked Victor, ignoring once again Sherlock about leaving him alone.

Sherlock chose his actions correctly, to not answer too quickly nor to take much time in it, to not give a very long answer nor too detailed. To not change the pitch in answering, nor look away and to breathe calmly.

"No." He said simply.

"You are a terrible liar."

"I'm not, you are just too observant. I'll have to modify that, now tell me, what gave me away?" Said Sherlock, trying to change the subject.

"Will..." said Victor softly at the confession of Sherlock lying to him, "why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Victor. And I was being serious. How did you know I was lying?" Asked Sherlock.

Victor remained quiet for a few seconds, he knew his father was acting strange, especially around William, he just didn't know that Will felt so uncomfortable to even leave for London. "Only if you tell me how you knew my father spanked me." He let the other subject go, at last.

"Deal. Your father is more a man of action than words. It was more probable for him to spank you than to lecture you or to punish you. But the truth is I didn't know, I was truly sure when you started looking like a fool with your open mouth, and then you saying: 'How did you know?' that's how I knew I was right." Explained Sherlock.

"You didn't know!? No way!" Exclaimed Victor. 'Unbelievable!'

"Now is your turn," he said.

"Er, you have a-a tick... when you lie." Said Victor, hesitating, "I didn't notice at first, but over the months it became clear that you had it. I was sure of it when you told that dumb of Sebastian Wilkes that you had put poison in his coffee." Explained Victor.

Sherlock looked confused for a moment that was until he started looking angry. "All these years and I have a tick!?"

Victor laughed, "Oh, come on! It's not that bad."

Sherlock didn't look genuinely angry for this fact, he seemed thoughtful and a bit distant. Victor interrupted his train of thought by saying softly, "Hey, just promise you'll email me, okay?"

Sherlock look at him and nodded, "Okay."

Victor smiled like he always did except this time he looked different, almost sad. "Great, now I'll leave you alone since it seems like I'm aren't wanted here..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and tried not to smile at the words of his friend. "Thank God! I thought I wasn't being obvious enough."

Victor placed a hand over his heart, betrayed, and exclaimed, "I knew it! And now I'm going to stay here for the rest of the night so that I can bother you."

Sherlock laughed at his friend's childish behavior. "Come on, Vic. Get out of here." He said, trying not to sound too fond, nor smile too wide, he had a reputation to keep, after all. God, he'll miss this.

"Fine, I'll go." He said, standing up and rolling his eyes. He stood by the door and said, "And if you don't email me I'm so going to the university with Lorin, and I'm gonna let him bite more than just your ankle."

"Stop making threats and go to sleep!" Said Sherlock as Victor finally left the room.

He let out a sigh he had been holding for too long as he lied down. He wasn't really going to sleep. At least not in a while. He had a cousin on his mother's side, who every time they saw each other, he would dare Sherlock to a 'challenge' as Anthony (Sherlock's cousin) often would say. The last one to fall asleep was the winner. As they grew up the hours of not sleeping turned into days. They stopped playing when Sherlock was almost run over by a car while going to school when he was 11. 'He was too tired to be able to function properly' that was what Mycroft said to Mommy at the time. They stopped playing, Mommy Holmes was very scary when she wanted to be.

It didn't really matter after all. Sherlock was always awake at ungodly hours solving cases, or trying to prove someone wrong. And Anthony? Well, let's just say that a certain super soldier (Tony's teammate) found him in his workshop, tinkering on his machines late at night to very early in the day. He would faintly scold him at first. In the end, he now brings Tony food unless he has been awake for more than 30 hours, then he sends him to sleep and locks down Tony's workshop.

'Yep, now that the brain is awake, there's definitely not going to be any sleep involved.' Sherlock thought.

⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕

"What happened next?" Asked John intrigued.

Sherlock cleared his throat and continued, "I left the next morning as I said I would. But before I left this old, poor-looking man came into the house when we were having breakfast."

"Who was he?" Wondered John out loud.

"I didn't know at the time. I just saw him and it was time for me to go." Said Sherlock. "I was in London for a few weeks until Victor called me. He sounded... honestly, he sounded like he was grieving. He asked me to come back. So I did."

⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜

*FLASHBACK*

"Will!" Greeted Victor with relief as he saw Sherlock in the station, he hugged him, making Sherlock drop his bag to the ground.

"Hey, Victor." Sherlock said as he pulled away after a few moments. He took a look at Victor and immediately knew something was wrong. Victor looked like he had been through hell and back, he was thin and the usually golden-looking skin was now pale, besides he was no longer smiling like he used to do, the look he wore was of a mournful man. Sherlock didn't say anything else. Sometimes silence is better than void words.

He followed him silently to the car. Victor sat behind the steering wheel and Sherlock was on the passenger seat. They were half the way when Victor spoke softly, "My father is dying."

Sherlock turned to look at him. He had been looking at the window the entire time to give Victor some kind of privacy, of course, that was just a lie because Sherlock was actually looking at him by the reflection of the window. Something was definitely wrong.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

"I didn't know what to do. I just kept staring at him with wide eyes. I was 17 at the time and I wasn't sure what to say, he was my only friend and I didn't want to hurt him, but I didn't know any words that would make him feel better." Sherlock said shaking his head, he wasn't looking at John. He felt like he was back in college, still experiencing the same anxiety he felt at that moment.

John looked at him, it was very rare to see Sherlock in any normal emotional state. It was weirder to see him anxious. John had a sudden urge to reach out. Maybe a pat on the back or hand on the shoulder. Sherlock was no cheesy woman like in those old movies to be comforted with a hug and letting him cry on John's shoulder like his mother taught John. What was he supposed to do with an emotional Sherlock? He never had that kind of Sherlock before. And just like that Sherlock's face change. You could no longer see the emotion reflected in his eyes or posture, it was as if something snapped, dragging Sherlock out of his previous mood.

"So, what did you do?" asked John relieved, but also disappointed in himself that he wasn't brave enough to do something for Sherlock.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

*FLASHBACK*

"How?" Asked Sherlock.

''Apoplexy. Nervous shock, He's been on the verge all day. I-I don't know if we will find him alive when we arrive, William." The last part was whispered, Victor's voice broke.

"Victor..." Sherlock didn't know what else to say. Of course, he was sad for his friend, but he didn't know how to voice it out. He didn't want to hurt his friend by saying something wrong.

"I don't want to talk about what's going to happen for now. But I do want to tell you what has been happening. Remember that repugnant man? The one that came the day you left?" Victor asked.

Sherlock was surprised at the choice of words from Victor but decided not to comment on it. "Yes, what about him?"

"That bastard was the devil, Will!"

When Sherlock didn't speak up, Victor continued talking.

"My father immediately hired him as a gardener. But the guy didn't do a thing in the gardens, then he was moved to the stables to tend the horses, but the horses assigned to him were badly treated, not fed, not bathed, he was horrible. My father kept him anyway! He was literally moving around the house just to find a suitable job for him. And every day he spent his time there, my father grew sick and scared. Everybody in the house complained about the man and his drinking habits; he grabbed my father's fine bottles and drank them whole, he also took my father's handguns and rifles to go hunting in my father's horse. One day, the man insulted my father when I was in the same room, so I grabbed him by the arms and forcefully took him outside of the house and shoved him to the ground, I almost punch him! He was so mad, looked at me like a murderous psychopath, and my father came the next day to my room, and asked me to apologize. To apologize to THAT man! I couldn't do that, Will. So a couple of days after that, he just left, my father actually begged him to stay when he announced his departure. That guy Hudson just said that he hadn't received an apology to the 'attack' I made to him. I told him he wasn't getting any. You must know, Will, that my blood had already boiled so many times that if he dared to do anything else that affected my father in any way, I wouldn't restrain myself into shutting him up with my fist."

"What happened next?" I asked when Victor stopped there. His whole body looked tense and angry, his hands were gripping the steering wheel so hard, but his eyes only reflected sadness.

"The next days were rough. One could hear my father pacing in his room all night. He was nervous all the time and constantly looking paranoid. The last drop was when he received a letter. He read it in the living room and when he finished, he put his head in his hands and began saying unintelligible things, he was running around like a madman, when I finally got him to sit on the couch I saw his face. My God! It was all contorted, I have never been so scared in my life, Will. I called the doctor, he told me it was a stroke. Before I left, Dr. Fordham told me he was very weak. And honestly, I'm afraid we won't find him alive."

"Victor, did... Is it possible that Hudson may have something against your father?" Sherlock asked carefully, he didn't want to offend his friend further, but there was a reason he asked him to come back. He thought (wrongly) that it was for his skill.

"He has something against my father, alright. He wants to make his life a living hell!" Frustration was evident in every fiber of Victor's being. He stepped a little harder on the gas pedal.

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly, that's not what he- "I meant, do you think Hudson is possibly blackmailing your father?"

Victor turned to watch Sherlock completely in bewilderment. "But my father... He wouldn't, he-" His eyes closed and tears threatened to fall for the first time since Sherlock laid eyes on him. He had stopped the car. the road was empty and not many cars went through that rode, they weren't impeding traffic. Trust Victor to never be a burden to anyone, nor put someone in danger, even if he himself was falling apart.

After some deep breaths, Victor continued. "You know my father, Will. He is a good man." His voice cracked at the verb. He almost said 'was'.

"Oh, Vic."

Victor couldn't hold back any longer, he threw himself at Sherlock's neck and engulfed the skinny frame with his arms tightly. Sherlock, hesitant at first, slowly put his own around Victor's neck. The sobs started almost immediately. One after the other continued to rack though Victor, making Sherlock move as well with the intensity of them. Even though he hadn't felt it yet, Sherlock knew his jacket was wet with tears and possibly other bodily fluids that would leave a mark. He surprisingly didn't care. The noises Victor was producing were making funny little things to Sherlock's heart. He felt... pained to see his friend like this, suffering. He discovered within himself that he wanted, more than anything, make this feeling go away, to spare his friend the anguish, logically he knew he couldn't. Didn't keep him from trying.

"Hey, it's-" He stopped, what was he supposed to say? 'It's okay?', 'Everything is going to be alright?' Most obvious case: Mr. Trevor is already dead or soon will be. How is that okay?

"Shhhh, I've got you" Was what he ended up saying. He rubbed circles on the upper back as he had seen in some of the movies Victor had shown him. This only made Victor sob harder and pull Sherlock closer.

'Perhaps not the smartest choice, Sherlock.' A voice that sounded suspiciously like Mycroft appeared in his mind.

Sherlock didn't know this at the time, but he was doing surprisingly well for a 'so-claimed sociopath'-

The crying lasted some minutes, it felt like an eternity for both of them, but it had been what Victor had needed. When he finally pulled apart, Sherlock felt hot where Victor had been resting just seconds ago, but quickly searched in his pocket for a handkerchief. He pulled it out and instead of dabbing at the wet spot Victor left, he handed it to him, gently. Victor almost breaks in tears again. He knew Sherlock could be a little... daft at common human things (CHT he had secretly named it to not alienate Sherlock further) like emotions or how to express empathy. Victor knew he had them, despite what everybody else in school liked to joke about, he knew Sherlock cared, in his own special way, but he cared. He grabbed the offered handkerchief and turned around to quickly wipe his face and blow his nose. To say he was a little embarrassed with his outburst was an understatement, but better to have it there, than risk William's safety and crash the car with a sudden one.

He could have made a joke like: 'such a gentleman' but didn't feel like it and in its place said, "I'm sorry, Sherlock, I don't-"

"Don't apologize, Victor. Never apologize for being who you are." Sherlock interrupted him.

He could have kissed him if he had had the right head for it... He didn't.

"Thank you" 

With that Victor started the car again and drove home, they were almost arriving when He spoke again, his voice was hoarse but calm. "I know you probably think that I asked you to come back for help. But I only asked you because you're the only true friend I have, and I didn't want to feel alone." 

Sherlock was quiet. He felt exactly the same, yet he couldn't get himself to say it. Mycroft has taught him that caring was a disadvantage. And even though he always made a big show of never listening to his annoying brother, Sherlock would soon learn that this precise lesson was rather painfully true.

Sherlock opened his mouth but closed it quickly, no sound came out. 'Speechless, of course.' This time around, Victor didn't enjoy leaving him like that. He smiled sadly, nodding shortly as if understanding that William could not give him what he wanted, what he needed.

They were already there and Victor had parked. He got out and didn't wait for Sherlock to go after him, he was already climbing the stairs that led to the glass front door.

When Sherlock finally entered the house, he saw a man who he deduced to be the doctor, despite the lack of proper attire. He was speaking softly to Victor. Even though Sherlock couldn't hear what was being said, he could deduce it off their postures. Mr. Trevor was dead.

Victor turned around to face Sherlock, he had a white envelope in his hands that the doctor had given him. 'Possible last wishes' Sherlock's brain supplied.

"My father, he-"

"I know, Victor."

Victor's face hardened at this. His posture changed from slumped to stiff, and his voice was devoid of any emotions. "Of course you know, you always know, don't you?"

Regardless of all the factors mentioned above, the response felt like a wall of bricks to the gut. Victor had never used that tone with Sherlock before.

"My father left me this, I was hoping you could read it to me unless of course, you already know what it says."

Sherlock decided to change the subject. "You mentioned before that your father received another letter."

Victor shook himself, not expecting that answer, he replied simply and short. "It must be around here, you can look for it while I go and pay my respects."

With that he went upstairs, leaving a clueless Sherlock behind. He didn't know if he should follow Victor or let him alone with his father, He decided for the latter. 'He wouldn't know what to do anyway', he told himself.

He began searching and quickly found what he supposed was the letter Victor had told him earlier about.

He read it and was surprised to see it was in code. It didn't take him long to figure it out. By the time the doctor had left and Victor had come back, he was in his mind palace, going through the events, again and again, to not miss anything.

Victor tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He looked awful. Without saying a word he handed Sherlock the letter his father had left him and sat down beside him, using the younger boy's legs as a makeshift pillow. Sherlock read.

/////////////////////////

"What did it say?" John was at the edge of his seat. The ice pack he had retrieved from the freezer at some point for his swollen nose, was long since forgotten. Sherlock hid a small smile. John has always been insatiable for stories. Hopefully, he won't be as disappointed in the ending as Sherlock himself had been.

"It turned out Mr. Trevor had actually been convicted of embezzlement back in his twenties. A ship, 'The Gloria Scott' was supposed to transfer him among other culprits from where they had been originally held. A criminal that had been on the ship was able to hide a very generous amount of money that was found when they shipwrecked. He had promised to pay a small group that would help him disappear. There was a malfunction and the bomb that was supposed to blow after their escape detonated earlier. Many died, as a matter of fact, the world was led to believe that everyone had died, but Mr. Trevor, whose real name had been James Armitage, among 3 others survived. The survivors, all inmates except for Hudson (who had been part of the crew), decided to split the sum they could save from the ocean and disappear."

"They changed their identities and each made a new life," John concluded.

"A very comfortable life."

John snorted. He muttered something along the lines of 'unbelievable' and 'seriously?'

"Mr. Trevor and another man previously named Evans moved to Australia, where they struck gold. Literally."

"For heaven's!... Lucky bastards." Sherlock could tell John was losing his mind. He smirked.

"Mr. Trevor traveled all over the world, making discrete business. He didn't come back to England until Victor had finished secondary education. He always avoided the spotlight despite having become very wealthy. Of course, that wasn't the case for everyone else. Hudson spent his part recklessly and quickly. After years of obsessive stalking, he finally found Trevor-"

"He planned to blackmail him."

"Nice obvious deduction, John, you're getting better."

John rolled his eyes but couldn't help grinning a little. He made a hand gesture, indicating to continue.

"He also found Evans. When Hudson left after Victor pushed him, he went after Evans. Evans sent Trevor the letter; This was the last thing Trevor read before his death." Sherlock went into his room and came back holding a wrinkled envelope. He handed it to John.

John examined it, more than anything with curiosity. He could try to do it like Sherlock and fail, but he held the envelope carefully, knowing that it was in a way part of his friend's past. He slowly took out the letter and opened it as if it was something precious. He immediately frowned. Sherlock wanted to laugh at his face but refrained himself. "Is something wrong?"

"It doesn't make sense." John read it again (and again), his brow only furrowed more.

"Do you want me to explain?" Normally this would be taken as condescending, but John knew Sherlock was being playful. He pursed his lip and try to figure it out one more time before handing the letter to Sherlock. Sherlock smirked smugly, John narrowed his eyes. The detective would pay eventually, after all, John now knew his weakness.

"'The whole video game for London is going steadily up. Master player Hudson, we believe, has been now told to receive all awards for fly-dragons, and for assassination of your poor managed life.' " Sherlock read out loud. "It's a code, more specifically a skip code."

He looked at John and continued, "You need to take the first word, skip two and use the third one, and so on." He handed the paper back to John with a raised eyebrow. A challenge.

John, never to back down from one, cleared his throat and said, "The game is up. Hudson has told all. Fly for your life." His eyes widened at the end, he finally understood.

They stood in silence, but something was still nagging John. "What happened after?" Sherlock frowned.

"What do you mean? That's all." Sherlock was shutting him out again. John knew he was risking it, but pressed on.

"But Victor, what happened with him? You said you were with him after his father died, so..."

Sherlock took a deep breath, he didn't like the next part. He had uselessly hoped that John wouldn't ask for more. "Ahm, he... well," he cleared his throat. "I only spent a week there. There was a funeral, not many people came. There was so much to do. Things that Victor had to take care of now with his father gone... He wouldn't let me help-not that I'd have been much use in the business area, but you know, Mycroft could have helped, if I had asked him, if Victor would have let me..." Sherlock wasn't meeting his eye, he was looking at the floor, the fireplace, the mantel, the violin, his gaze stayed there. John looked at his friend, he looked... in distress somehow, like he was itching to help, but unable to. He knew very well what a restless Sherlock was like. 

"He was angry, not all the time, but most of it. He always treated me well. But one day, after a meeting with his father's associates, he snapped." Sherlock hugged his knees and nestled himself further into the chair. "He- We shouted, yelled at each other, there were some insults... he asked me to leave, I left the next morning."

John let him have a moment, he wanted to know what else, but not if it would upset Sherlock. He didn't have to wait much.

"I went back to college, Victor didn't. I sent him a couple of emails, I how busy he was and didn't want to burden him, but I also... I wanted-"

"You wanted to know how he was."

"You make it sound so humane."

"Sherlock..."

"Yes, I wanted to know." There was frustration in his voice. "He never replied, so I stopped. Approximately two months later, I received a letter."

*******************

*FLASHBACK*

Sherlock was exhausted, he had been running himself out since he decided to hurry up on his plan to get his degree. (Yes, more than he already was.) His extra credits were taking more out him than he had anticipated. Good thing his classes for the day were done. He opened the door to his room and immediately spotted the package on his bed. He dropped down all the things he was carrying. He took off his shoes and slowly made his way to the bed. There was no name anywhere. Someone had delivered this personally. That only left three possible persons, but Sherlock had a very clear assumption of who did it. Inside the package was a worn satchel he knew too well, a special Colombian coffee he grew to love, and a handwritten letter that had no return address. He opened it.

"My Dear Will,

Many things have happened since we last saw each other. I've known more about my father these past few months than the time I shared with him my whole life. I guess a part of me has you to thank for that. I know we didn't part in the best of ways. But I will always remember. As you may have already deduced, I left my studies. I'm not coming back. I will miss you. I have to take care of my father's company now that he's gone. Business was never my area, nor something I like; but that's life, right? I hope I don't ruin it. I've already considered some schools that will allow me to both work and study. You once said I was smart, you're not usually wrong. I hope I'm smart enough to succeed in this.   
I received your emails, I'm sorry I didn't reply. I'm sorry for many things. I hope you can forgive me. I hope you are well. I know you can sometimes bite more than you should chew because I know that whatever you set your mind to, you can accomplish. But sometimes you ask yourself more than you should, Will. I believe you will accomplish many extraordinary things because you are just like that, you're extraordinary. (Don't let that go to your head, though). I'm sorry I won't be part of that. As you sure have already noticed there's no address. I won't be here for a while. You've always known how much I like to travel. Do me a favor, do not find me.  
Do not search for me, I'm not the Victor you met in college. I'm afraid I will never go back to being him. But please, do me this favor. Remember me, remember him. Remember me as I used to be, not like the man I turned out to be. You, Will, might be the only one who truly knew me. Let me stay that way.

I, for my part, shall never forget you. Goodbye, my friend.

-Victor Trevor

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

"Have you seen him since then?" Sherlock simply shook his head and John asked him.

"Do you ever wonder what happened to him?"

"I know what happened." The reply was instant. Both John's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He wanted to ask, but also didn't want to overstep, it felt like Sherlock had already shared enough for the night.

"He did well in his business, he must have had some rough years but nothing he wouldn't be able to handle." Sherlock licked his lips. "He traveled. A lot. He met people, he was happy-"

"How would you know this?" John was confused. Did Sherlock ask Mycroft to dig into him? It seemed unlikely.

"Because I know him, John. I knew him..."

Sherlock didn't speak again. John was trying to collect his thoughts. After some time of just them sitting around in silence, John put a hand on Sherlock's knee, faintly startling the detective, but John acted as if he didn't notice.

"Thank you, for telling me" Sherlock looked at him in the eyes, as if looking for something. After close examination, he looked away and said.

"Are you going to get all sappy on me now?" And with that, the walls were back on. John knew he wasn't going to speak about Victor again, not tonight, not in a while, or even never. He would let him be, for the moment. Who knows? Maybe with this as an experience and his newfound knowledge, John would get what he wanted anyway he could.

"If I were you I would be careful with what I say to the man who could you into a giggling mess"

Sherlock opened his eyes wide with surprise. Someone may have forgotten, but not John.

"Pfffft, I would hardly say 'giggling mess'..." he tried to play it off nonchalantly.

"Sherlock."

"Mhmmm?"

"Run."

Sherlock didn't need to be told twice.

**Author's Note:**

> As you can probably tell, this is unbeta-ed (don't even know if that's a verb)  
> I started this fic when I was 14 and finished it 6 years later. So it's probably kinda patched up, but I wanted to contribute this amazing website and to my dying fandom. I'm also new to the writing side of Ao3, so sorry for any inconveniences. I used to write on Wattpad (I know, shame on me).   
> Love you all.
> 
> Also, I was listening to Wicked while writing the end, so...


End file.
